


Swinging Around at Nothing

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Manic Episode, Mentioned Skip Westcott, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Peter Parker Acts Unbalanced, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is Responsible, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28120395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In which Peter sees Skip again and it leads to bad decisions.Warnings: There's no St*rker in this (I'm not disgusting lmao), but Peter does try to kiss Tony during a manic episode and Tony immediately shuts him down. There are mentions of childhood sexual abuse, but nothing graphic by any means.Title Credit: Shadowboxer by Fiona Apple
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Kudos: 61





	Swinging Around at Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> If you do ship st*rker and decide to comment below, please feel free to hit yourself in the head with a golf club instead. I have no problem deleting your disgusting comments so no other survivors have to see your complete disregard for even the most basic modicum of human kindness and sympathy. Crawl back in the hole you came out of and never come back.

The exact moment everything went downhill was in dispute -- really, the thing that led to that afternoon of bad, bad decisions could have been precipitated by any number of the traumatic events of the past six years of Peter’s life -- but probably it was just the one, that day in August, just before his nineteenth birthday, at the Peetz on 37th and Greenpoint. Peter was sitting alone at a table in the corner, studying for an Algebra exam, when he saw a shadow pass over his table and felt that prickling sensation that alerted him of danger. His calm shattered, he failed to look up until  _ after  _ he heard the familiar voice.

“Peter, is that you?” it asked, and Peter almost didn’t recognize it because the owner of this voice had never sounded so  _ remorseful _ before, and it rarely used his real first name. He recalled a purr of  _ Einstein _ rattling around the back of his head for years, and felt as though he would vomit. When Peter’s head snapped up, though, there he was. Skip Westcott -- undeniable. It was him. Peter struggled not to gag on the bite of scone currently on its way down his esophagus, frozen stiff as he was. He was silent.

“Geez, it’s been forever!” he said, like he didn’t even remember what he had done. Peter searched his face, though, against his own better judgement, and found that the guilt behind Skip’s eyes told a different story. Peter couldn’t breathe -- could barely speak -- until, finally, Skip spoke again. “You look so much different.”

_ Worse, _ Peter deduced from the way Skip was keeping a safe distance, heart sinking, and the way that his voice lacked that quality it had had when Peter knew him, years earlier, and the way that he couldn’t hold eye contact.  _ Can’t even bear to look at you, _ he berated himself. Why wasn’t Skip looking at him the way he used to? It had been horrifying, scary, disgusting the way he had looked at him when he was a kid, but now, inexplicably, Peter found himself welling up with a strange emotion -- a different kind of fear, perhaps -- at the lack of that look. Could it be that Peter was no longer desirable? Now that he had outgrown “jailbait” status -- now that he was no longer a trusting, doe-eyed child, would no one, not even Skip Westcott, want him?

It was the most neurotic and irrational thought he had ever had. It was the first sign that he had gone completely off the rails. He should have listened to that voice in his head that told him that judging his worth by whether or not it seemed like the pedophile who had abused him as a child still wanted to fuck him was utterly bonkers. He was Spider-Man. He was a good person, and the reason Skip wasn’t looking at him the way he used to was because he was a predator who only went after children. Instead, he stuttered an excuse and ducked around Skip, hightailing out of the coffee shop.

Once Peter was out of the coffee shop and on a train out of Queens, he realized just how fast his heart was beating, and his brain somewhat caught up to his reflexes in time to realize where he was heading. He knew, rationally, that it was a stupid thing that he was about to do, but truth be told, some stupid behavior was long overdue for Peter. He felt out of control, and truthfully, he was still reeling from a lot more than his encounter with Skip -- the Snap, the Vulture, and, still, Ben’s death.

He needed to do something, and that something was objectively idiotic. He needed to know that he was still worth something. He needed to restore some broken piece of his identity that Spider-Man could never compensate for.

-

“Hey, Pete,” Tony said absently when Peter stormed into the lab. His focus was on the holo-display projected over his work-bench -- a mock-up of a vintage motorcycle, probably for Rogers if he ever decided to come back.  _ Good _ , Peter thought. He could use Tony’s preoccupation on projects that would likely never mean a damn thing if Tony tried to lecture him on decision-making after what he was about to do.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter said, breathless and manic after practically running to the tower from the train station. Then, he did the dumbest thing he had ever done in his almost nineteen years on Earth. He marched right up to Tony, grabbed him by the chin to turn his face toward him, and kissed him square on the mouth.

The kiss itself lasted less than a split-second. As soon as Tony realized what was going on, he’d pulled away and launched himself backwards several feet in his rolling chair, speechless. It didn’t matter, though, because already, Peter felt the first tears spilling over. Not full crying; not yet. Just a couple of stray tears and a wobbling upper lip. Before he could really start sobbing, Tony seemed to gather his faculties enough to speak.

“Kid, what the fuck?” he spluttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter whispered. “I just…” He trailed off, and Tony just kept looking at him with that blank stare.

“Jesus Christ. You know I’m old enough to be your father, right?” he asked, finally, sounding completely rattled. “It’s normal to have a crush on someone older, at your age, but…”   


Peter cut him off. “I don’t have a crush on you, Mr. Stark,” he muttered blankly. He felt so empty, and that stupid, stupid decision had done nothing to assuage that feeling. “I just needed to feel…”   


“Feel what?!” Tony practically shouted, incredulous. “What on Earth would possess you to do something like that, Peter?”

“Do you ever get so scared of getting old?” Peter asked -- an answer that only seemed to make Tony even more confused.

“You are way too young to be having this kind of crisis,” Tony complained. “And why would you need to kiss an old man to make you feel young? Wait, don’t answer that.”

Peter ignored him, and as he sunk to the floor, he really started to cry. “I’m not a kid anymore, Mr. Stark,” he sobbed. “Who is ever gonna want me now?”

Tony seemed at an utter loss for words, and he sat down himself, a safe several feet from Peter. Peter continued to hiccup and sniffle into the silence for several minutes. He was coming down from the craze that had overcome him, and he and Tony continued not to speak.

Finally, he broke the silence and said, “I need to tell you something I’ve never told anyone.”

“I’m an empty cup for the filling, kiddo,” Tony said softly, and Peter looked up to meet his solicitous and concerned gaze. No doubt, he was wondering, much like Peter himself, what was making him behave in such an unbalanced way.

“When I was thirteen, I was molested by my babysitter,” Peter whispered. Tony tried to mask it, but Peter could hear his sharp intake of breath even from several feet away. “I talked to him again today.”

“Oh, Peter,” Tony said. Peter looked down, because he couldn’t stand the pity written all over his face.

“I didn’t kiss you because I really wanted to, or anything, and I’m really sorry,” he said. “I just really needed to feel like I wasn’t too old to be wanted.”

“Fuck.” Peter was getting frustrated with the monosyllabic, pitying responses. With a grumble and a short excuse, he stood to leave, but Tony followed him up and grabbed him by the wrist. Peter spun on his heel and swatted the hand away.

“Don’t touch me,” he hissed. “I’m sorry. I get if you don’t want to see me again. Just… let me go.”

“That’s not what this is!” Tony protested. “Jesus, kid, give me a minute to process.”   


Peter felt bad, then, for snapping. His shoulders sagged as all the energy left him at once. 

“Look, it’s not like I’m mad or anything, it’s just hard enough to talk about without the pity parade,” he mumbled. He could feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes again and briefly hated himself for not being over the crying yet. He was looking down, so he didn’t notice when Tony took a step forward until he was already wrapped up in a hug, and then he really couldn’t hold it back anymore, crying quietly into Tony’s t-shirt.

“It’s okay,” Tony said. “You’re safe now, kid. Let it out.”

Just for a moment, Peter allowed himself to relax and believe that that was true.


End file.
